“
I had heard it before. A month before I left for LA, my mother had made an appointment with a new naturopath. “The ache,” she’d said, “it’s deeper lately,” and asked me to drive her. The office was on the seedy side of South Houston, manned by a woman with chin hair, a binder of prescriptive herbs. “You harbor hatred,” she told my mom. “It’s a toxic place to come from.” She suggested tinctures, meditation, a retreat she hosted in a Sedona vortex. Three thousand for the weekend. “Toxicity blocks a body,” she warned. “Tumors, artery clogs. You need to cleanse.” “Three thousand isn’t feasible,” my mother
”
”